


Like the Stars, Like Your Destiny

by anodyna



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, First Time, Het, Romance, Starfleet Academy, Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyna/pseuds/anodyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyota Uhura has always been drawn to things that resist her understanding.  Finding out she's lived her entire life in an alternate reality is a mystery she's not sure she can solve.  Sleeplessness and self-examination ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
Sometimes at night Nyota Uhura lies awake and thinks about alternate realities.

This time it's a dream that wakes her, and she opens her eyes to the dim of the ship's artificial night. For a moment she doesn't know where she is; her mind is still half in the world of the dream. Then she comes back to herself. She's on the Enterprise. These are Spock's quarters.

Nyota dozed off before Spock returned from his shift but he's there now, lying beside her in his familiar posture of sleep. Her eyes sweep the room and she smiles to herself at the evidence of his efforts not to wake her: the second teacup left next to hers on the table, his uniform draped haphazardly over the chair, and the clear ten inches of space he left between them when he finally slipped into bed beside her.

Nyota sees his intention as clearly as if he'd spoken it to her, but in sleep his body will do what it will. One hand at least has disobeyed his orders, reached out across those ten inches to rest lightly in hers, an unconscious gesture of affection.

Spock sleeps so little, it's a rare pleasure for her to watch him. With her eyes she traces the familiar lines of his face--the expressive brows, the dark lashes fanned against his cheek, the sharp line of his nose and the soft bow of his mouth. Awake he is always thinking, always with his keen expression and quick, focused movements. Asleep he loses that intensity; it drops away from him and is replaced by something that fills her with an almost painful tenderness.

It's so tempting to wake him. Nyota imagines herself reaching out and touching his face, tracing his ear with her fingers, brushing her thumb against his lips. If she does it long enough, eventually he will wake, coming out of his deep sleep like a diver returning to the surface. But she won't. If he's sleeping it's because he needs it, and she can wait.

She checks the timescreen beside the bed: 0216 hours. Midway through artificial night, and the room is almost perfectly silent; the soundproofing of the officer's quarters is one of the great engineering marvels of the Enterprise. Only the stars moving slowly past the window and the faraway vibration of the engines remind her that she is on a starship, not in some quiet Terran hotel.

Nyota could, if she wished, bring the holovid screen down over the window and complete the illusion of Terran night. But space is too new for her, this adventure too long-awaited for her to retreat from any part of it now. In any case it feels wrong to pretend at Terran night in Spock's quarters; it should be Vulcan night, she thinks. And for now the loss of Vulcan is too fresh for such a reminder to be welcome.

_"Whatever our lives might have been, if the time continuum is disrupted, our destinies have changed."_

As soon as Spock said it, she understood it to be true. And not only from that moment: for decades before things had been changing, beginning with the Narada's attack on the USS Kelvin and radiating outward from that event, ripples of cause and effect leading they know not where.

She wants to know. Alternate reality is an anomaly, and Nyota Uhura specializes in anomalies. She turns it over again in her mind, replaying it like a subspace transmission, waiting for the static to resolve into meaning.

It's clear, at least, where it begins: Twenty-five years ago, with the Narada tearing through a hole in space-time and destroying the Kelvin. That moment is the first point of concentrated change, like a dark drop of blood blooming in water. And like blood in water there is a moment when everything is suspended: those die who would not have died, those who survive are altered, the history of a moment is rewritten. Then the whole thing begins to spiral apart. Long tendrils of effect and aftereffect form and unfurl. They spread and break and grow indistinct, until they are absorbed into time and become untraceable.

Logically, Nyota knows it can't be otherwise; that the nature of alternate reality is to be imperceptible to those who are experiencing it. For them--for her--there is no "alternate." There is only what is, only "reality." Still, she tries.

Hikaru Sulu's parents met because of the Kelvin. His father escaped the disaster in a shuttle that was picked up by the USS Cavanaugh, where Sulu's mother was a medic. If not for the attack on the Kelvin, that meeting wouldn't have happened. And yet, Sulu existed in the original timeline. He'd still been born; his parents had still met, just some other way. Maybe at Spacedock, maybe at a party. Whatever change there was, it wasn't great enough to prevent Hikaru Sulu from being where he needed to be--where they needed him to be--when the Narada returned.

Then there was Jim Kirk. Of all the survivors of the Kelvin, his life was the most obviously altered. This Jim Kirk had grown up without his father, and what had that done? Nyota tries to imagine the little boy Jim, with a mother traumatized by grief, not knowing his father and probably not understanding why he wasn't there. To a small child his father's decision to sacrifice himself to save others might feel like abandonment instead. Jim grew up reckless and angry, unsure of his place in the world--and he almost didn't make it, period, let alone make it to Starfleet.

But then--he did. Something tipped things back, and was that how it worked? Did the time continuum find ways to right itself that they don't comprehend? Or is it just as simple as this: That they are who they are; that within each of them there is something essential that cannot be altered. That maybe it's not the continuum that rights itself. Maybe it's them.

Nyota pictures the night she and Jim met at the Shipyard Bar. It was a fluke, an accident, but it changed something--his life at least, probably hers too. She ticks it off in her mind: If she'd been ten minutes later arriving; if her Romulan morphology project hadn't been so successful that she felt like celebrating; if Jim had hit on some other girl first, or gotten beat up by locals instead of Starfleet Cadets; if Captain Pike hadn't intervened. So many ifs, and if you take away any one, the outcome would change. And even though Nyota knows, logically, that any event looks like a chain of wild coincidence when you start considering alternatives, in this case she really wonders. She thinks about all those circumstances rushing together, hurtling toward Jim Kirk like space debris being sucked into a gravity well.

It doesn't feel accidental. It feels like fate.

The timescreen blinks 0237. She could lie here all night, she thinks, and every night after, and never exhaust her curiosity about what's happened, or stop wondering what's ahead. She cannot know the future; she's accepted this in theory. It's only the knowledge that time has been disrupted--that one future for them has _already happened_\--that has turned this perfectly ordinary fact into a provocation.

Nyota has always been drawn to things that resist her understanding: difficult languages, alien cultures, space and subspace and the universe in all its complexity. She loves a good mystery. It's what led her to Xenolinguistics and brought her to Starfleet. It drives who she is, and who she loves.

Her life has become part of the mystery now. And maybe her destiny didn't come for her all at once like Jim Kirk's did, but she doesn't mind. She thinks it began arriving a long time ago. She sees her past in her mind like a great bundle of threads, each one a little choice, a step this way and not that, a moment that changed something. They still keep spinning, and Nyota keeps gathering them together. Somehow from these threads, she thinks, the fabric of her destiny will be made.

She's in the mood for thinking anyway, and she has all night.

  
****

  
Nyota's gift for language is apparent before she is even three years old.

It starts at home, around her family's table, where visitors from the university gather to discuss her mother's work. They come from all Terran regions and sometimes from other worlds, and they speak in ways Nyota has never heard before. When the other children are sent to bed, she lingers to listen, making herself invisible behind her mother's chair.

Everything Nyota hears she stores up in her mind, saving words and phrases so she can ask her mother later to explain them. And mostly her mother does, leaving out certain parts that are too hard for a little girl to understand--things about politics, and violence, and war. Eventually even these words become understandable to Nyota, and she doesn't need her mother's translations anymore.

When, at eight, Nyota expresses an interest in becoming more proficient in Standard, her aunt Hadiya presents her with a series of books: the popular adventures of Anouk Ashmai, a young woman in Starfleet. Nyota embraces them eagerly, beginning with the first volume, _Anouk Ashmai: Starfleet Cadet_. Then the next four, in rapid succession: _Anouk Ashmai: Her First Voyage_; _Anouk Ashmai: Starfleet Investigator_; _Anouk Ashmai Beyond the Galaxy_; and Nyota's favorite, _Anouk Ashmai: Destiny in the Stars_.

It's love at first reading for Nyota. Anouk Ashmai is brave and kind, smart and attractive, and solves mysteries in space. Nyota begins to wonder if perhaps there are mysteries around her own home she can solve. While waiting for one to appear, she contents herself with practicing Anouk's elegant Standard phrasing and careful manners. She begins to look at the stars differently, imagining Anouk Ashmai traveling among them on her latest Starfleet assignment.

Nyota's mother is less delighted with Anouk Ashmai. "I don't know why you chose those books for her," Nyota hears her mother saying to her aunt one day in the kitchen. "Why can't Nyota learn Standard from medical texts, like we did?"

"Like _you_ did, Bina," her aunt replies mildly. "I learned Standard from reading love poetry." There is a pause and the sound of clinking glasses. "You may recall there was a certain professor involved..." Her aunt's voice disappears as she closes the kitchen door, ending Nyota's eavesdropping.

Nyota masters Standard long before she tires of reading about Anouk Ashmai. She carries the little PADD where the books are stored everywhere, in case she finds herself with free time and nothing to do. More than once her mother catches her reading at night, betrayed by the glow of the viewscreen under her bedroom door.

Nyota is sitting on the veranda reading the 21st volume in the series, _Anouk Ashmai and the Mount Seleya Mystery_, when her brother comes around the corner of the house. "What's next," he teases, taking all three steps in one jump, "_'Anouk Ashmai Reads the Dictionary for Fun'_?"

Her sister runs past laughing. "More like, _'Anouk Ashmai: Perpetual Virgin'_!"

"Reading the dictionary _is_ fun!" Nyota shouts after them, not because she is stung but because her brother likes it when she pretends to be.

"Anyway I think Anouk and the Admiral like each other," she adds, to herself.

  
****

  
The summer she is thirteen, Nyota discovers the holovid library at her mother's university. She loves its cool, dark viewing rooms--so different from the glaring heat of the summer day outside--and even more what the library has inside it. All of history, culture, language and literature can be found there, available to her at the touch of a screen. For a girl of Nyota's relentless curiosity, it's heaven.

For three months Nyota spends her free afternoons there. She sits rapt in the dark viewing room as holovids unfold around her, playing out past events, making her feel as if she were there. She begins with Terran history, but her interests quickly evolve and multiply. She immerses herself in space travel, history of Federation planets, alien life forms, great moments in interplanetary diplomacy--and her secret passion, Starfleet. Secret, because Nyota senses her mother would not approve.

In the quiet darkness of the viewing rooms, her mother's approval is not required. So Nyota indulges herself, devouring the library's offerings on the origins and history of Starfleet. She watches everything, from vids so old they're two-dimensional to full-surround simulations of starships that haven't been launched yet. She travels to the surfaces of every Federation planet, from icy Andor to desert Vulcan, learns their histories and cultures, and hears their languages spoken. It's fascinating, like the adventures of Anouk Ashmai but with less flowery language and more real dirt and action.

The holovid library is Nyota's home away from home for a whole school year before she makes her greatest discovery yet: The library houses Starfleet Archives. These are not the polished, edited reenactments she is used to. The Archives are raw data, just as it was collected: recorded transmissions and flight plans; reports on subspace anomalies; scientific data and ship's manifests. And holovids too, but from actual incidents. Many are complete ship's recordings, with captain's logs and visuals, showing missions of all kinds and all degrees of success. Others are just fragments--broken pieces, half-erased, accounts stitched together from the testimony of witnesses and survivors. In some cases, where a mission had gone horribly wrong, the visual is gone and all that's left is sound.

It's natural that Nyota is drawn to these parts of the archive. She's been looking for mysteries her whole life so far, and here are real mysteries, real voices from the outer reaches of space. She wonders, with all the self-confidence of fourteen, if she might hear something in the recordings that no one has before. A clue maybe, that would reveal itself only to her.

This is how Nyota Uhura finds the Kelvin. Not in her Academy textbooks or in the dissertation she would read four years later in preparation for meeting Captain Pike, but in the darkness of a holovid library, on a spring afternoon when she is fourteen years old. She sits frozen in the darkness as the recording uncurls around her, and listens to the death of a ship.

She never tells her mother.

Two months later, Nyota begins studying Romulan.

  
****

  
"Nyota, I conclude you do not understand your mother's objections to your interest in Starfleet."

Aunt Hadiya stands politely before her, waiting for Nyota to look up from the book she is pretending to read. Nyota has come to sit under the shade tree in the garden to escape another argument with her mother. Her aunt, it seems, prefers to continue the discussion. Nyota lowers her book and her aunt takes the seat beside her.

"You're right, I don't understand," she says. "My mother works for peace and an end to violence. Starfleet is a humanitarian and peacekeeping armada. The goals are the same."

Hadiya smiles at her niece's carefully phrased argument. It is clear Nyota has been preparing to say it for some time. She looks up into the leaves of the tree and chooses her own words carefully. "Nyota, you know many things for such a young girl. I will tell you something you don't know. I will tell you why your mother is afraid for you to join Starfleet."

At the word "afraid," Nyota goes still. She glances at her aunt in surprise, but Hadiya does not appear to notice. She continues to look up at the leaves as if she is reading something there.

"When Bina and I were new doctors, just out of medical school, there was a terrible disaster. A starship was destroyed, far out on the edge of Federation space." Hadiya does not react to Nyota's intake of breath, but her eyes shift to the horizon and she frowns. "They brought survivors to our hospital. But their injuries were so terrible, like nothing we had ever seen. Burns that never stopped burning. Flesh that died without healing until a limb was gone. No one knew what weapons could do these things, or where they had come from. We felt we were living a nightmare each day."

Nyota is speechless. She has never heard of this; it is like a thread in her mother's life has been torn away and she is only now seeing the hole it left behind. "What--what did you do?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

Her aunt smiles, a smile that is neither happy nor sad. "We went on. We healed who we could, we gathered our strength, and we continued our work. For me, that work has been medicine. For Bina, it became something else. She chose to work toward securing peace between worlds, so that future generations will not know that horror. But now you, Nyota--"

"I wish to join Starfleet, and she fears for my safety. That I will be injured. Or killed. Or worse." Nyota expects to feel afraid herself as she says the words, and is surprised to find she does not.

"Yes, exactly. Your mother is a brave person, braver than almost anyone I know, but you are her child. She looks at you, nearly grown up, and sees the helpless baby she carried. She remembers the broken bodies of the injured and in her mind, it's you. She knows it is isn't logical. You are a strong young woman with a strong mind. You can weight the risks of your choices for yourself. Your mother is only holding on to the hope that you will choose another path than Starfleet."

Nyota is silent for a few minutes, absorbing her aunt's words. The air around them is full of sound: the rustling of the leaves in the tree, bees humming in the flowers, the distant whine of a hovercar; and farthest away the voices of the younger children, counting off in some game of their own invention. To Nyota it seems as if all of Terra is sending her a message, if only she can translate its meaning. Finally, she turns to her aunt.

"Thank you for telling me. I understand my mother's fears. But Starfleet is my only choice." She pauses for a moment; then adds, quietly as if her mother might overhear, "I believe it is my destiny."

Hadiya laughs her quiet laugh, like a breath of steam escaping from a kettle. She stands up to brush off her skirt, and turns to Nyota with the same happy-sad smile as before. "Nyota, of all the people I know, you're the first one I would choose if I were in charge of giving out destinies." Then her face turns serious. "If you're really determined to join Starfleet, you will not let anyone's doubts interfere with your plans. You will simply work harder, and keep choosing the path that leads where you want to go. If you do this, if you do it bravely, eventually even your mother will accept that your choice is the right one."

Nyota takes a deep breath, and feels herself exhilarated. "I will, Aunt."

"I know you will, Nyota," her aunt replies. "I've never doubted you."

  
****

In _Anouk Ashmai: Her Journey Begins_, when Anouk left her parents to go join Starfleet, her father hugged her tearfully. _"Anouk,"_ he said, _"I could not have parted with you for anything less than the whole universe."_

When Nyota Uhura boards the transport that will take her to Starfleet Academy, her mother says, "Nyota, I hope you know what you're doing. Remember you can always work in your aunt's clinic if you change your mind."

Nyota watches out the window as the transport pulls away and her mother and aunt grow smaller and smaller on the platform. "I could not have parted with you for anything less than the whole universe," she whispers to their tiny figures. She turns around in her seat and draws a deep, calming breath. Then she says it again, in Kiswahili this time. Then in Arabic, French, Mandarin, Urdu, two dialects of Romulan (one much better than the other but she'll practice), and Andorian so terrible that an Andorian sitting on the other side of the transport looks over and crinkles his antenna in disapproval.

She already knows she will never change her mind.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyota Uhura has always been drawn to things that resist her understanding. Finding out she's lived her entire life in an alternate reality is a mystery she's not sure she can solve. Sleeplessness and self-examination ensue.

  
The first time she sees him, he's standing outside the Hall of Science, deep in conversation with another instructor. Her eye is caught by the tall, slender figure and the way he stands, a little formally, with his hands clasped behind his back. He seems young to be an instructor, she thinks. Also rather handsome, in an intense, otherworldly way.

Gaila, who's been lying on her stomach in the grass making angry noises at her engineering problem set, looks up and catches Nyota in the act of staring. She follows the direction of Nyota's eyes. "Oh," she says. "Commander Spock. He's totally hot, right? I thought about signing up for his seminar on advanced Vulcan phonology, except I don't speak Vulcan. I'd let him teach me some, though. If you know what I mean."

"Unfortunately, I do." Nyota looks back over; the conversation has ended and Commander Spock is walking away, down the path toward the administration buildings.

Gaila gives Nyota a little smack on the knee to get her attention back. "Seriously, though. You should look into his classes. I hear he's a genius, and Vulcan is really close to Romulan. You could pick it up in a month and spend the rest of the semester sitting in the front row getting all squirmy over his uniform."

Nyota laughs in spite of herself. "Gaila, for the last time, I do not have a thing for the uniform!"

"I hear what you're saying, but your words mean nothing."

"Speaking of words that mean nothing, didn't you tell Yelena you'd have that problem set done in an hour?"

Gaila sighs and retrieves her PADD from the grass. "I did, curse her Cardassian ancestors. But I am serious, Nyota. Commander Spock doesn't teach that many language courses, and he's got research projects starting. If you take the initiative you could get in on the ground floor of something interesting. Resist the Vulcan hotness if you must, but don't forget about the opportunity."

Nyota can just see him still, a lone dark figure among a crowd of cadets in red, climbing the steps of the Faculty Office Building.

"You're probably right," she says, absently. Then a door opens, and he disappears from sight.

  
****

  
At the end of Fall term, Nyota receives an invitation to a Xenolinguistics Department tea hosted by Commander Spock. Only a few undergraduate students are invited, a distinction that's both flattering and terrifying.

"There's nothing to worry about," Gaila tells her, as Nyota brushes her hair and checks her uniform for the fourth time. "Just remember: Vulcans are touch-telepaths, so don't try to shake his hand; he's a vegetarian, so don't talk about meat; and he's a genius who you want to work with someday, so don't say anything stupid. Good luck!"

The small rooms of Commander Spock's quarters are already crowded when Nyota arrives. She's standing in in the foyer, looking for anyone she knows and wondering which way is the actual tea, when Commander Spock appears before her.

"Cadet Uhura," he greets her, with a slight bow.

He's taller up close, and his voice is softer than she expects, his inflections less austere. Also, he apparently knows her name. Nyota returns the bow. "Commander Spock. It's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for inviting me."

"The pleasure is mine. Since I began teaching in this department I have been told many times that you are a student I should meet. I believe we have several research interests in common."

It's a perfect opening, and Nyota leaps at it. "Yes, actually. I've recently become interested in developmental similarities between archaic dialects of Romulan and Vulcan. I haven't had a chance to review all the research yet, but I'm hoping to come up with something that could become my thesis." It comes out in a rush and she hopes she doesn't seem nervous.

He raises an eyebrow--a sign of interest, she hopes. "The topic seems worthy of examination. It has not been fully explored, making the possibility of original discoveries greater." He pauses, as if considering something. "Your research may be aided by additional study in Vulcan phonology. I will be teaching an advanced seminar in the spring. I hope you will consider taking it."

Nyota smiles, feeling a little warm. "I'm already registered."

"Then I look forward to having you." He looks like he might say more, but then the door opens and he glances up to check the new arrival. "Please excuse me; I must speak to the Admiral. It was a pleasure to meet you, Cadet Uhura." He bows once again, and is gone.

Nyota spends the next hour politely mingling. She learns the details of several classmates' winter travel plans. She explains Romulan greeting customs to Commander Neely, who confides that he booked a trip to Romulus by mistake because it was next to Romania on the transporter schedule. She hears three different versions of the story of Admiral Archer's beagle, all mutually contradictory and equally impossible.

Between conversations she looks around--not intending to pry, but curious about the person who lives here. She gathers little details, like clues: Old-fashioned books mixed in with the data PADDs on the shelves, suggesting interests beyond cutting-edge academics. A soft, nubby blanket on the end of the sofa, implying what seems like an un-Vulcan appreciation for comfort. A terrarium containing moss and ferns, probably Terran. A small collection of orange stones in a bowl, definitely Vulcan. Nyota remembers their distinctive color well, from her days roaming the Federation planets in the holovid library.

She likes what she sees in his rooms. There's less of the dry Vulcan minimalism she expected, and more evidence of individual taste and personality. He's already becoming less forbidding to her, a feeling that increases with each little object--each sign of travels taken or interests similar to hers--that she notices as she wanders from room to room.

Nyota notices him, as well. It's difficult not to. More even than his Vulcan features, Commander Spock's physical presence sets him apart from everyone around him. Nyota finds her eye returning repeatedly to the tall, thin figure as he goes from group to group, listening politely to different conversations, occasionally adding a few words before moving on.

Up close, she sees things that escaped her when her only opportunity to observe him was from across a quad or dining hall. She realizes that what she took for a lack of expression in his face is actually more subtlety. His expressions are not open, but they're detectable in the small movements of his mouth and eyes, the occasional raised eyebrow, and the tones of his voice. Small quirks of his body language become more apparent when she sees them repeated: a tilt of his head while listening or thinking, a shift of his gaze to the middle distance when someone tells an inappropriate joke, the way his hands find each other behind his back when he stands still. All Gaila's teasing aside, there's something about him Nyota finds striking.

He interests her--but it's the wrong kind of interest. The kind that makes no sense for a girl to have toward someone so obviously, famously unavailable as a Vulcan.

A Vulcan _Commander_ no less, she reminds herself. And future instructor, and possible mentor, and hopefully research collaborator, and who knows what after that. The list is sobering, but helpful. Nyota resolves not to look at him for a while, and for half an hour she applies herself with single-minded focus to Lieutenant Commander Suresh's very long story of how he personally prevented the USS Hood from being overrun by an Andorian snow-lizard infestation.

The party is winding down and Nyota is thinking about leaving when she finds herself momentarily alone, standing just inside the doorway of Commander Spock's study. Her eyes are drawn to his desk, with its interesting clutter of work in progress. There is a stack of student PADDs waiting to be graded, and next to that his own, blinking softly to indicate messages received. In another corner are several bound volumes with tooled leather covers--she guesses Vulcan, by the style of their decoration--in a neat pile, weighted by a small glass orb containing a tiny model of the Terran moon.

She's about to leave the room when her eye is caught by something on his desk, something so familiar and yet so strange that her hand goes out involuntarily to touch it. It's a book, an old-fashioned Terran book bound in brightly colored synthetic paper, now battered with age. From the cover, a familiar face smiles up at her--a young woman in the Starfleet uniform of an earlier time. It's a copy of _Anouk Ashmai: Destiny in the Stars_.

"Cadet Uhura." She hadn't heard him enter, and she looks up, startled. She quickly withdraws her hand, but it's too late. His eyes trace the path and he raises one eyebrow inquiringly. "Are you familiar with this book?"

Nyota tries to cover her flustered reaction and hopes she's a little bit successful. "Yes, I am. I read it when I was a girl. My copy was on a PADD, but it's the same story. I'm just--surprised to see it here."

Commander Spock nods. "Indeed. It is a gift for my mother. She was quite fond of these books as a young person and I believe the reminder will be pleasing to her."

Nyota puffs out a tiny laugh, almost more of relief than amusement. "That's thoughtful of you. I didn't realize Anouk Ashmai had a following on Vulcan."

"On the contrary. I believe it is quite some time since my mother has found anyone on Vulcan who shares her enthusiasm for these works." There is a brief pause and Nyota registers a flicker of--something--in his expression. "You may not be aware--my mother spent her girlhood on Earth. Her place of origin is Seattle, in the Northwest Pacific Region."

"Oh. I see." Nyota is careful to keep her surprise out of her voice. She does not wish to offend him and has no idea whether he considers this an unusual fact about himself.

"My mother indicates these books were quite popular among young females of her generation. I understand the series runs to over forty volumes."

Nyota nods, grateful to him for the smooth shift in topic. "Oh, it does. I'm pretty sure I read all of them. My aunt loved them too; she gave them to me when I wanted to improve my Standard."

"Interesting. I seem to recall the vocabulary employed by the author to be somewhat more...ornate than the Standard in common use. However as your Standard is perfectly correct and not at all ornate, perhaps I have remembered inaccurately."

Nyota laughs, feeling less awkward now. "'Ornate' is a good word for it. But I do think my Standard has recovered from the experience." Then, curious, she asks, "Did you actually read those books?"

"I attempted to. I confess that the plots did not seem realistic to me. Perhaps it was simply that the gulf between my own experience and that of the characters was too great. I conclude the author did not consider young Vulcan boys to be likely readers."

"No, I imagine not." The image of a Vulcan child of either gender attempting to enjoy Anouk Ashmai's romantic adventures is so absurd that Nyota can't help smiling.

"Your amusement is natural. My mother still finds the story amusing, even though it is many years in the past." Nyota detects the note of dry humor in his voice, and looks up to catch him almost-smiling--just a tiny movement at the corner of his mouth that in anyone else would be unnoticeable.

"My brother didn't like them, either," she says. "I think they're more of a girl thing."

He nods, as if Nyota has said something profound, but his eyes still show that almost imperceptible amusement. "In any case, when I speak to my mother next I will inform her that I have met someone here who is able to share her appreciation. If you do not object, of course."

"Of course. Please tell her, if you think she would like to know." Nyota pictures Commander Spock's mother receiving a message from her son about Anouk Ashmai. His human mother, she remembers to add--and how was that likely, or even possible? For all her pride in her powers of observation, she hadn't been prepared for that small revelation.

Nyota becomes aware that Commander Spock is standing silently, perhaps waiting for some signal from her. She realizes abruptly that she is one of the last guests, that the others are leaving. It's time to go. He seems to divine her intention before she moves, stepping back slightly to allow her to pass out of the room, then follows close behind her.

At the door he wishes her a good evening, and expresses the hope again that he will see her in class in the spring. Nyota thanks him again for inviting her, and tells him she is looking forward to it. They part with a polite bow.

That night Nyota has a dream about him. It's the first in a very long series.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyota Uhura has always been drawn to things that resist her understanding. Finding out she's lived her entire life in an alternate reality is a mystery she's not sure she can solve. Sleeplessness and self-examination ensue.

  
"What do you and The Commander do up in that lab all the time? And don't say 'research.'"

Nyota barely looks up from her PADD; her relationship with Spock is a favorite topic of Gaila's but she doesn't have to encourage it. "Okay first, please stop calling him The Commander in that dirty voice. And to answer your question, _again_: I monitor and record subspace transmissions. I translate them, I look for anomalies, and when I find them I try to figure out if they're significant." Then she adds, "Spock does his own work. And confirms my findings, when I'm done."

Nyota doesn't have to look to know that Gaila's rolling her eyes. "My gods, Nyota, that guy is like your own personal subspace anomaly. I know you love mysteries, but it's been--what, five months you've been working together? When are you going to solve the mystery of what's inside that guy's pants? I want proof of anatomical compatibility."

"Gaila! I've told you before, his mother is human. That obviously didn't stop his parents from reproducing, so can we please not debate anatomical compatibility again? I don't want to be thinking about this the next time he and I are together."

Gaila laughs and gives a little bounce on her bed. "Too late! Anyway, I hope you don't mind if I keep thinking about it. Sometimes the image of you and Commander Spock doing it in the Subspace Lab is the only thing that keeps me awake during lectures."

Nyota gives up on her homework. She drops her stylus and turns around in her chair to face Gaila. "Glad to be of service," she says, her voice full of sarcasm that Gaila pretends not to hear. "Anyway, not the point. Spock and I are there to work together. And even if I wanted to do--something else--_not_ in the Subspace Lab, by the way--he's Vulcan. Vulcans don't--they're not like that."

"What do mean, 'they're not like that?' What aren't they like?" Gaila stops bouncing; she's actually interested.

Nyota hesitates. She's not sure herself what she means, but Gaila is looking at her expectantly. "They just--they're very serious. They're serious about everything, but about relationships especially. There's no Vulcan equivalent of dating. Their pair bonding is beyond monogamous. And you've seen how reserved Spock is. The idea of him or any other Vulcan involved in some hot, illicit affair is just--it's unthinkable."

"So you admit it would be hot. Also 'illicit!'"

"Also 'unthinkable.' And before you say what you're thinking: Yes. I do still think about it. I'm human, and he's brilliant, and attractive, and I can't just turn it off. But wanting him like that would just be a mistake. It could mess up my work, my career, my friendship with him--which by the way is important to me--his career maybe, I don't even know. Anyway it's not going to happen, and I'm fine with it not happening. Okay?" Nyota picks up her stylus and turns back to her PADD, willing the characters on the screen to resolve themselves into something she can translate so she can escape this conversation.

Gaila sighs dramatically and flops down on her bed. "Whatever, _'Anouk Ashmai: Starfleet Robot.'_" She picks up her own PADD and taps lightly at the screen, seemingly at random, and maintains a few minutes of thoughful silence.

"You know, Nyota," Gaila says at last, "you're not the only one who notices him. I've seen the way he looks at you. You can't tell me there's not something brewing under that Vulcan surface. Maybe you don't want to find out what it is, maybe it's too risky or maybe it's just too weird. I'm just saying, don't come crying to me when he takes off into space and you're left with nothing but the memory of that time you accidentally bumped knees while you were giving him your notes on Romulan morphophonemics."

Nyota keeps her eyes on her screen, but she feels herself blinking and knows Gaila can see it too. "Gaila, you are both my closest friend, and the person I loathe most in the universe."

"What a fascinating paradox I am," Gaila says, tapping away. "You can thank me later."

  
****

  
Nyota defends her thesis on a Thursday afternoon in late May, before a panel of distinguished faculty. As her thesis advisor Commander Spock abstains from questioning her, but she can tell by his small reactions during her presentation that he's pleased with her performance. On her way out of the auditorium she catches Spock's eye and he gives her a small nod of congratulations. It's finished; her undergraduate career is over.

Three hours, two celebratory glasses of wine, and one "Last chance to hook up before graduation!" proposition from her astrophysics lab partner later, Nyota emerges from the Linguistics Building to find Spock waiting for her, sitting on a bench in the deepening twilight. He stands up as she approaches.

"Nyota, I regret I was unable to join you for the celebration. The thesis committee's deliberations took some time, as not all students performed to the same level of excellence as yourself."

Nyota smiles at him, feeling a glow of satisfaction and relief. "Thank you for the compliment. Although I give most of the credit to my thesis advisor."

"I would argue with you, but I know you are not serious. Your success is all your own doing. I merely provided technical assistance on a few points of minor importance."

"Hmph," she says, "I'm not the only one who's too modest. I couldn't have done it without you, especially at the end. Although I still don't know why you let me work on it at your place--I've never made a bigger mess in my life than I did in your study with all my notes. I know I'm lucky you didn't kick me out."

He concedes with a nod and a faint trace of a smile. "I acknowledge some difficulty in accessing my desk during that period. However I believe the final result was worth the brief inconvenience. If you must thank me, perhaps you will do it by allowing me the pleasure of walking you home."

"Thank you, I accept. But do you mind if we take the long way? The fresh air feels so good. I feel like I've been indoors for weeks."

"Of course. I am available for as long as you like."

They walk slowly together, following the tree-lined path that curves gently around the edge of the campus. For the first time in months there's no need to take a direct route, no rush to get somewhere. Looking around, Nyota realizes with surprise that spring has arrived without her notice. There are flowers on some of the trees, and new leaves where she swears there was nothing just a few days ago. It's a clear indication of how oblivious she's been these last six weeks, her mind on nothing but finishing her thesis.

It's thrilling to be done. Her thesis represents eighteen months of solid research that she hopes will help secure her assignment to the Enterprise next year. After months of tiny steps toward completion, today feels like a giant leap forward toward the realization of her dream.

Spock is part of that--he's been part of it since the beginning. Nyota has been his student, his teaching assistant, his advisee; also coworker, collaborator, and friend. She loves the way they work together: the hours of focused silence, punctuated by little wordless interactions, concluded with long discussions over tea or dinner. They no longer have to explain things the way they once did; they know each other's ways of thinking, and ideas move between them easily, understood and built upon in an easy exchange. The satisfaction she gets from working with him is unlike any other she's had at the Academy.

She loves their friendship, too. It's not the open, no-hold-barred kind she has with Gaila, but in some ways it's more precious to her. He hasn't entirely dropped his reserve--it seems to be a part of his Vulcanness, as definitive as any physical feature--but they have developed an intimacy, a knowledge of each other that she wouldn't have thought possible when they first met. It's a slow process, befriending a Vulcan, but with each tiny unfolding, each new aspect of himself he reveals, she appreciates more the intricacy of his character, and the careful negotiations he has to do to live in a culture so different from his own.

Spock has unbent a little, since she's known him, and she credits herself with some of that change. She's dragged him out to plays, musical performances, and street festivals, and he's taken her to his favorite antiquarian bookstores, Vulcan restaurants, and public gardens. He does things for her she knows he doesn't do for anyone else--like letting her use his private study to work on her thesis. Nyota brought disorder into his rooms the likes of which they'd probably never seen before. But he tolerated it with the same perfect equanimity that he has every other intrusion she's made into his ordered Vulcan existence.

The truth is, it's him that she loves.

She won't tell Gaila; she definitely won't tell Spock. It's her own secret, something Nyota carries with her without knowing where to put it, what compartment she can keep it in so it doesn't interfere with the working relationship and friendship that are so important to her. She wants to keep them separate, but they're too interrelated: The respect and admiration she feels for him in their work is inseparable from her attraction to him, because they come from the same source; and the qualities in him that inspire her affection as a friend are the same ones that make her wish there was more between them.

The physical attraction is the biggest challenge. Reason can keep her from acting on her feelings, but when she's asleep reason deserts her. Her dreams are filled with him, with every kind of physical intimacy, things she's never done with anyone, and so real she wakes up in a sweat, with her heart pounding.

It's impossible to keep that a secret from Gaila. If Nyota and Spock accidentally touch hands while passing a cup of tea, Gaila picks up on it; a sex dream is like an illuminated sign to her. Talking to Gaila allows Nyota a chance to vent a little, but the real substance of what's bothering her remains unspoken.

On rare occasions, Nyota has wondered if he's thinking the same about her. At work she'll notice his hand on his PADD has gone still, and for a split second before she looks up she'll know he's staring at her. Or some little touch, some barely perceptible contact will disturb his normally perfect focus. One night she stopped by his quarters and accidentally interrupted his meditation, and he was so lacking in composure as they spoke, so unlike himself. It almost seemed he was about to say--she doesn't know what. But the moment passed, and seemed to be forgotten. Only--she can't forget.

Nyota steals a glance at Spock, walking beside her, and gives thanks for the thousandth time that Vulcan telepathic abilities don't seem to include distance mind-reading. His profile is handsome and pale against the increasing darkness, his posture upright as always, his expression calm and serious. Knowing him better has given her many more things to admire about him, but the physical presence that attracted her the first time they met has never ceased to affect her. She knows it probably never will. Her goal now is purely containment.

As they walk, they keep up a quiet conversation, moving from subject to subject without apparent direction. Usually when they walk together they talk about the day's work, or some new research idea, but tonight these seem far away. Instead, they talk about other things that interest them: the launch date of the Enterprise, now projected for next spring; the impending visit of Nyota's mother and aunt for her graduation; the volume of ancient Vulcan poetry that Spock is translating for the Ministry of Thought.

Ten days from now the summer term will start, Nyota will begin her new career as a graduate student, and the cycle of academia will begin again. But for a few days she's free to imagine herself as something other than what she is--not as a student or Academy cadet or future Starfleet officer but just as Nyota Uhura: Girl With Vacation.

She's been so busy she hasn't had time to make plans, but now that she can, the prospect is exhilarating. She bounces a little as she walks. "I can't believe I'm finished! I feel like I should do something really special with the next ten days. Last summer I watched a holovid on the fjords of the Terran Trans-Nordic Zone--maybe I'll check them out. Have you been there?"

"I visited the region during my second year at the Academy. The fjords are impressive, although I found the weather uncomfortable. I had not been long on Earth at the time and was not yet adjusted to the lower ambient temperatures of the Northern latitudes."

Nyota laughs. "Yes, because you're really adjusted to them now. But you're probably right, somewhere hot would be ideal. I can imagine it already--lying on the beach in a bikini, waves lapping at the sand, getting roasted. Then at night sitting out on the terrace, having drinks, looking out at the ocean." Warming to the idea, she closes her eyes. "There are these big rocks on the shore, and they absorb so much sun during the day that for hours after sundown they're still radiating heat. You can lie down on them to keep warm while you look at the stars. And there are no lights, so you can see everything in the night sky--galaxies, planets, starships, everything."

"You paint a vivid picture. I can imagine the scene quite clearly."

Inspiration strikes her. "You should come with me! It would be great--ten days to let the sun burn the dampness of San Francisco right out of you. No cares, no deadlines, no projects. Just the beach and the heat and those rocks and the stars. I'm not a student--you're not a Starfleet officer--"

"Nyota, I am always a Starfleet officer."

The abruptness of his tone surprises her. His demeanor is unchanged, but she feels sudden tension in the air.

"Of course," she fumbles, flustered. "I was only--being silly. I didn't mean to--"

"I am not offended. I am simply pointing out the obvious. But since you introduced the topic, I have been wanting to discuss with you your plans for the next term."

Nyota is pretty sure that's not the topic she introduced, but it doesn't seem to be the right moment to correct him. "Yes. My plans for next term. Of course."

"You may be aware that a new instructor will be joining the faculty this summer. Commander Ejuwan is an expert in comparative xenolinguistics, and his knowledge of the Vulcan language, while not that of a native speaker, is considerable. In addition I believe he will be looking for a qualified research assistant. Given your shared interests, it would be an excellent opportunity for you."

"I don't know, I'm not sure I'll have time to take on another assistantship. Between my classes, my own research, and working with you, I think I'll have my hands full."

Spock doesn't reply right away, and in the odd silence Nyota reprocesses what he just said. This time she hears something different. "Wait. Spock, we're still going to work together, aren't we? I thought we'd continue with the same projects. I know we haven't discussed it formally, but I've been planning on being your teaching assistant again."

He doesn't look at her. "Working with Commander Ejuwan would contribute to your career advancement. When one is making a transition to advanced studies, it is logical to develop new working relationships and cultivate different mentors." His tone is neutral, pure Vulcan. To most ears it would sound as expected but to Nyota it's uncharacteristic and baffling.

Nyota feels a small burn of hurt forming in her chest. "I'm not asking what's logical. I'm asking if you don't want to work with me anymore." It occurs to her she may have offended him, but she's not sure how. "Was it what I said about the beach, because I really just wasn't thinking--"

Spock keeps walking without answering, and now hurt is replaced by frustration and Nyota's had enough. "Spock, stop! What you're saying doesn't make sense and I need you to explain. Why don't you understand you're upsetting me?"

That makes him stop. He turns to her and she sees, finally, that the calm Vulcan tones of his voice are an illusion. His expression shows pain and confusion, and she realizes he's struggling, trying to find the words to answer her. When he speaks his voice is low and strained. "Nyota, I am sorry. I did not intend--" He shakes his head. Either the words aren't there, or his Vulcan self-control won't allow him to say them. "To explain is impossible. I cannot--I am sorry."

He doesn't need to explain. Everything he's not saying and can't say is suddenly before her in her mind, like an anomaly in subspace revealing itself only to her. She sees it in his eyes as clearly as if it was written there: He wants her. He loves her.

The awareness comes as a shock, and she could use some time to adjust. But he's standing there in pain and she can't allow it, won't allow it to continue. She closes the distance between them in one step; she reaches up with both hands to touch his face and draw him toward her. "It's okay, it's okay," she whispers, and presses her lips to his.

It is a beautiful, uncertain kiss, tender and full of meaning. For Nyota it's as if all the longing she's ever felt wells up inside her, spilling over as she kisses him, as he kisses her back. When they separate she pulls in a hitching, shivery breath, and feels a tiny thrill as he does the same. Their faces are so close together, their foreheads almost touching, and his breath is warm against her skin as he says, _"Nyota."_

It's not a question, not a warning. If he's surprised, it's not reflected in his voice. He says her name like a statement, like a fact. "Yes," she says. She rests her head against his, letting their noses touch, slightly dizzy with the unexpected feeling. His hands have found her waist and she feels them there, pressing heat into her skin through the fabric of her skirt. Waves of astonishment, desire, and relief ripple through her, and she wonders if he can feel her trembling.

He's trembling a little, too; but he collects himself, draws a careful breath. "Nyota," he says quietly, "for some time I have wished to speak to you about a matter of importance."

She nods, her mind working though her body seems to have gone its own way. "Is it this?"

"Yes."

A tiny laugh pushes its way up and out, taking with it a little bit of the tension inside her. "Was there--something particular, that you wanted to say?"

"Thank you, but I believe you have grasped the essentials."

She lifts her head then, making just enough space between them to see him clearly. He meets her eyes and she recognizes this look, although before this she never understood what it meant. "I didn't know," she says, which is an understatement but the best she can do for now. He looks so young to her, suddenly, and vulnerable in a way she's never suspected. This moment is overwhelming enough for her; what must it be for him, to allow this, to admit even indirectly to his feelings? It's so far from what she thought she knew--about him, about Vulcans, about anything. Her own impulse to self-protection seems small and unnecessary by comparison.

It's a useful realization. It reminds her there's more to protect, for both of them. "Spock, I'd like to know whether this is possible. What would it mean for us, if we were--together, like this, here."

"You would like to know whether a--particular type of relationship between us would be tolerated, in the context of the Academy?"

"Yes, that's it."

Spock is silent for a moment, and she feels his discomfort before he speaks. "Nyota, I am reluctant to tell you this, but I believe among certain of the faculty it has long been assumed that ours is an intimate relationship."

"What? Why?"

"It is not surprising. If you consider the situation objectively, only as is appears from the perspective of others, I think you will easily comprehend the reasons for their mistake. No doubt some of your classmates have reached the same conclusion."

Nyota nods. Gaila may the only person in her dorm who doesn't believe it at this point. "How do you know? Has someone--has anyone asked you?"

He frowns, his brows contracting like they do when a research finding perplexes him. "I have received an occasional jesting remark, that is all. There have been no questions, either formal or informal. Based on my observations, it appears that where relationships are perceived as consensual, and where there is no obvious favoritism, the Academy's policy is best described as, 'Do not ask.'"

"Really." Her student handbook wouldn't agree, but Nyota is able to think of a few cases already where that seems to be true. "No one asks at all?"

"Correction. Admiral Martu asked once, at the Department holiday party where, you will recall, you wore a dress which exposed your shoulders most beautifully. And I would have answered, if that was required, but he immediately withdrew the question. His exact words were that if I told him I was having an improper relationship with you, he would have to question my discretion, while if I told him I was not, he would have to question my sanity. I believe he intended humor."

"Yes, that was definitely a joke. Also sexist, by the way."

"That was my impression also."

"To be honest, I don't know whether to be offended or relieved." Mostly relieved, she decides. But she makes a mental note not to avoid Admiral Martu at parties in the future.

Spock doesn't reply and she glances up to see what he's thinking, but he avoids her eyes. "Nyota, I must apologize. As soon as I became aware of the mistake I should have corrected it. I told myself it was not logical to issue a denial when no accusation had been made; furthermore that your merits are so obvious that there could be no question of your accomplishments being tainted by favoritism. I persuaded myself my reasoning was objective, but I know it was not."

She shakes her head. "It doesn't seem unreasonable. Responding to gossip just encourages people to talk more. I can't imagine anyone suspecting you of favoritism. And I hope I've proven myself enough that no one would seriously think I don't deserve what I've achieved."

He's still keeping his eyes elsewhere. "If that was all, I might agree. But those were not my only considerations. I could easily have testified that we have no improper relationship. But in doing so I must also have denied any feelings of attachment to you, and that, I knew, would be impossible. My emotions would be exposed, with consequences I could not predict. I know it was not fair to you to take this into account, but I could not bring myself to do otherwise. I thought--perhaps if you were to work with someone else, if we were not always together, the gossip would subside. It seemed the least I could do--I know it is not sufficient."

His tone is dispassionate but Nyota hears the self-reproach behind his words. "It's really okay," she says, touching his face, making him meet her eyes. "I'm not upset. I understand wanting to keep your feelings a secret. I understand a lot of things now. Like--what you said before, about the new Commander, and the importance of developing new mentor relationships. It was because of this--because you have feelings for me."

"Yes. Although it was not my intention to raise the subject tonight. I had thought I would wait until the start of the next term. But you began talking about beaches, and stars, and--rocks--and I felt such an overpowering desire for you, and for everything your words implied. I was certain you would perceive it. I sought another subject, and in my haste I chose Commander Ejuwan."

"I'm sure he deserves better," she murmurs, "He sounds like a fine man." But her mind is elsewhere, focused on the thought of his desire for her, desire so strong that words alone can unravel his careful control. All her visions of him--every saturated, vivid, tormenting dream--crowd into her mind, along with a new one, one of rocks radiating heat, of the night and the ocean and him, speaking inarticulate words in Vulcan as the stars burn above them--

She can't contain herself. She is a scientist, and scientists need to experiment. Without warning she presses forward, closing the gap that remains between them. She feels his surprise as her body meets his, but he doesn't give way, and then his hands are on her hips, a grip of surprising strength that pulls a tiny sound from her, a cross between a gasp and a whimper. With their bodies so close together she can feel how hot he is, and when they kiss his mouth burns against hers. There is so much energy contained in him, so much unsuspected strength. She senses the effort it takes him to control it and wonders, in whatever part of her scientist's mind is still functioning, what it would be like if he stopped. What else, previously unknown, hides behind that tranquil demeanor?

He is not tranquil now. She opens her mouth to his, allowing him in, and the sound he makes in response is like an arrow fired through her body. His touch is heated and ungentle and she feels her knees give a little. This is playing with fire, she knows it, and so does he. _"Nyota--"_ he says, his voice crackling with unfamiliar energy, and this time it sounds like a warning.

With great effort Nyota forces herself to take a half step back, breaking the contact. She draws a halting breath. "Just so we're clear, we could be subject to disciplinary action. An inquiry, questions, something. It's not likely but it's possible." It comes out fast and her voice shakes but at least she's making some kind of sense. She thinks.

He's not any better, really, but he collects himself to answer. "Yes, it is possible. Although not likely."

"Do you care?"

He pauses for a moment as if considering it. "No. I have attempted to do so, but I find it is impossible."

She laughs at that, the tension in her body releasing with the sound. She leans into him again, not pushing now, just reclosing the little distance she made. His arms go around her, encircling her, and she presses her face into his shoulder, feeling weak suddenly, like she's been swimming for hours.

After a moment he adds, "It is not entirely true that I do not care. I do not care on my own behalf, but to the extent you are concerned, I will be also."

"I'm not concerned." As soon as she says it, she knows it's true.

"Your indifference to Academy regulations is gratifying. Should you wish to rationalize it, I will endeavor to provide justification."

She laughs as she kisses him, feeling relief and an almost giddy happiness. He kisses her back, once again gentle. Though he seems bemused by her desire to do it, he allows her the freedom to kiss whatever part of him she chooses: his temples, his eyelids, the tender spot beneath each ear. He does the same, mirroring her gestures, his fingers caressing the nape of her neck as his lips brush against her skin. It's heavenly, the way time seems to stand still while he touches her.

Voices from another path finally break the spell. A group of cadets walk nearby, oblivious to their presence but near enough to remind them where they are, and what they're doing. They step apart reluctantly and Nyota feels a pang at the loss of his warmth. She realizes how close they came to doing something really indiscreet in an almost-public place, and she feels a thrill she chooses to believe is horror.

They walk together the rest of the way to her dormitory, and part, finally, with few words. Words do not seem necessary. He wishes her good night; they touch hands. She watches him as he walks away, her eyes never leaving the tall figure until he disappears into the distance.

Nyota continues to stand there, surrounded by darkness and the rushing music of the wind in the trees. Where they have touched, her skin still burns.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyota Uhura has always been drawn to things that resist her understanding. Finding out she's lived her entire life in an alternate reality is a mystery she's not sure she can solve. Sleeplessness and self-examination ensue.

  
They make love for the first time in a small hotel, in a clean white room with tall windows overlooking the ocean. It's a place they choose together, almost without discussion--just a few taps of a PADD over lunch in the dining room one day, with others oblivious all around them--and it's decided, and done.

They do not say out loud what they intend, not even to each other. To find the right words would be difficult, and in any case it's unnecessary.

Their purpose is not to be secret. They do not feel illicit, no matter what Gaila says. This is something they want just for themselves: one night free from uniforms and hierarchies, from the rituals that form the normal boundaries of their existence together. To be only Nyota and Spock, and nothing else.

It's a journey of less than fifty miles. They meet at the Academy gate, and to the casual bystander there's little about them to attract notice. The more observant might remark that the commander wears black even when he's out of uniform, or that the violet blue of the cadet's dress is beautiful against her soft brown skin. They might even catch the small exchange of gestures when the two meet: She touches the collar of his jacket, straightening what's already perfectly straight; he brushes back a strand of her long hair that's slipped free of the rest and curled over her shoulder.

Only someone looking for it would detect the way their fingers find each other's as they walk--touching and separating, touching and separating, as if renewing the pleasure of the contact with each repetition. They walk to the transport hub together, and choose one going north. They watch the city slip by below, until the grid breaks up and dissolves into trees. After a time it changes again, becoming coastline and ocean. They have arrived.

It's late afternoon and the sun is low in the sky, filling the white room with golden light. Nyota steps inside and stands with her eyes closed, waiting to hear the swish of the door sliding closed, the soft chime of the lock setting itself. Then she opens her eyes, takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

Spock stands beside her, quietly taking in the room; he seems to be waiting to see what she does. The seriousness of what they're doing--how big a step it is just to be here--strikes her anew, and she feels the need for reassurance. She turns to him just as he's turning to her, and he kisses her gently, as if he's read her thoughts.

It works--she feels calm and tranquil again. She smiles at him.

"Now," she says, "tell me everything."

They sit on the balcony overlooking the water, their backs against the stone wall. Nyota has brought a gift from Gaila: a delicate Orion lantern, made of pierced metal in a pattern of waves and stars. Its small flame flickers and glows, casting moving shadows on the stones. Spock had made them tea, steaming cups that warm their fingers as the sun begins to set and the breeze turns cooler.

They talk.

They tell each other about their lives before they met, about their childhoods, about how they came to Starfleet. He tells her about Vulcan--about growing up there, about what it was like to be the only child with a human mother, about the difficulty of knowing who and what he was. He describes the day he declined his admission to the Vulcan Science Academy, and how the rift with his father is still not mended.

She tells him about her family, about their house filled with visitors and the fascination it gave her for other languages and other worlds. How her mother opposed her decision to join Starfleet, and how hard she had to work to earn the right to make her own choice. She tells him about the holovid library, and the day she found the recordings of the Kelvin disaster.

"That is when you began your study of Romulan." He looks to her for confirmation.

"Yes," she says, surprised. "How did you know?"

"I did not know, until now. I have sometimes wondered why a young person who had lived an entirely Terran existence would be drawn to such an obscure and complex language as Romulan. Even at the Academy it is rarely studied before the second year. Your near fluency as a third year student suggested to me that you had begun your studies much earlier--perhaps six or seven years before."

"My mother would be horrified if she knew how I got interested. She thought I chose Romulan because it meant I could take classes at the university."

"I am not surprised the story of the Kelvin made a strong impression on you. The captain's actions showed great courage in the face of a situation in which there was no survivable option. I have often thought of it, as I have worked on simulations for the command-track cadets." After a pause he adds, "As you are acquainted with James Kirk, you must be aware that the captain of the Kelvin was his father. One of the lives saved in that incident was Cadet Kirk's."

Nyota nods. "I think he was a second year before I heard it. I almost didn't believe it at first. Kirk never talks about it, either."

"You and Kirk have known each other for some time. You were present at the incident in Iowa where he came to the attention of Captain Pike."

Nyota glances at him in surprise. "I was. How did that come up?"

"It is often cited as an example of Captain Pike's effectiveness as a recruiter. It was some time before I understood the female cadet involved to be you. Although once I did, I felt I comprehended perfectly how events must have unfolded."

"I hope by that you mean, you can tell I shot Kirk down for being an ass."

"That you did not succumb to his charms at the time is evident from the report. But I have wondered if--since you have known him--perhaps you have felt differently--"

"Spock, are you asking me if I ever did anything with Jim Kirk?"

He doesn't answer at first, just takes a sip of tea, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Finally he says, "It is possible."

Nyota laughs. "I can't believe you're jealous! And of Jim Kirk, of all people."

"I am not jealous. Jealousy is illogical. I am simply curious. James Kirk is reputed to have qualities that are attractive to many women--although I am unable to determine what they are."

Nyota touches his face and he turns to look at her, his eyes dark. She leans over and kisses him, enjoying the way his breath catches in response, the way his eyes close and stay that way.

"My answer to Jim at the bar was my final answer," she says. "He's not my type."

Spock opens his eyes, raises an eyebrow. "You have a type."

"Yes. My type is handsome scientists, very brilliant, with excellent linguistic abilities and an illogical tendency to be jealous."

"Thank you, that is encouraging." Their hands have found each other, and he links two fingers with hers--a simple gesture, but it fills her with a spreading warmth.

The sun has set, and the moon glows softly above the horizon. Against the deepening blue of the sky Gaila's lantern is a small beacon of flickering orange light. The coastline here is rugged, and the waves of the incoming tide sound a distant, steady rhythm against the rocks below. The air grows cooler as it comes in off the ocean, but neither one of them moves to go inside.

Nyota looks at Spock, taking in the lines of his profile. She reaches up to trace the shape of his ear, and he responds by closing his eyes. "Tell me what it was like for you," she says.

He takes a deep breath, lets it out. He glances at her, a quick sidelong look, and she sees his almost-smile. "I imagine our experiences were similar. I had my thoughts about you, but I could not let them interfere with our work. I wondered what you felt, but did not have any particular expectations. It seemed the only thing to do was to continue as we were."

She nods. "I dreamed about you, all the time."

His tiny exhalation is as close as he comes to a laugh. "Vulcans dream very rarely. Perhaps I should be grateful to have been spared that additional source of torment."

"It had its good parts."

"So I imagine." He looks at her again, more seriously. "It is not accurate to say I had no expectations. Certain future events, I thought, might bring about change. With your outstanding academic record you are almost certain to be assigned to the Enterprise. I reasoned that, as colleagues on the same starship, we might develop a more complete understanding of each other. And I knew--I had cause to believe that there was no one else. That you had not formed any other attachment that would make such a future development impossible."

Once again he has surprised her. "Was there anything about me you managed not to know?"

"It was not something I went out of my way to learn. You and I spent a great deal of time together, which gave me some idea of how little time you had to devote to anything else. However it was others who brought it fully to my notice. It was remarked upon among my colleagues that Cadet Uhura had disappointed many other cadets by her steadfast refusal of their advances."

"The faculty talked about me. I know I shouldn't be surprised, but--what?"

"Students do not realize how much interest their instructors take in their activities. As one of the most accomplished cadets, one so beautiful and well-regarded, your lack of apparent romantic interests attracted some curiosity. I believe it fueled some of the conjecture regarding the nature of our relationship."

"I can't believe there's so much gossip. Does anyone have their own life to worry about?"

"A reasonable question. However given where we are it is late to begin taking offense at speculation about our private conduct."

Nyota laughs, and presses a kiss against his neck. He turns his head toward her, finds her mouth with his and kisses her back--a strong, open kiss, definite and unreserved. With his free hand he brushes her hair back, and the tiny contact of his fingers with her exposed skin makes her shiver. She opens her eyes to find him looking at her, his eyes so dark, so expressive and human. She wonders if her look reveals as much to him as his does to her.

"You knew all that," she says. "But you never guessed I felt the same way you did."

He leans back against the wall, shifting his gaze to the darkening horizon. "There were times I thought I perceived something--you would look at me a particular way, or I would think I heard something unspoken behind your words--but I could not be certain. Human interactions are complex, and it is difficult for me to distinguish between what is significant and what is accidental. I did not wish to take the risk of being wrong. I was aware there was no other faculty member who could take my place as your advisor, if you felt you could no longer work with me."

She nods. "I thought about that, too, what would happen if you knew I had feelings for you. I didn't want to do anything that would damage our work together, or our friendship. It seemed safer if you didn't know."

"You are aware that the risks of entering into a more intimate relationship still apply. It is not too late, if you wish to change your mind."

"I think it is, actually. But I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't completely sure."

He smiles. "It was not as simple as I have made it sound for me to maintain control of my emotions. One night I nearly failed entirely. I was meditating on my desire for you, attempting with little success to bring it under regulation, when you appeared at my door. It was as if you were sent by Surak himself to test me. I do not know how I was able to speak to you. In that moment I wished nothing more than to act--to end to my suspense and know, once and for all, whether you desired me as I did you."

Nyota blinks. "I remember."

"Nor am I likely to forget. Vulcan passions are extremely strong, Nyota. This is difficult for others to realize. They do not understand that our mental discipline is necessary to keep in check that which would otherwise be uncontrollable. They believe us cold and unfeeling, when the opposite is true." He looks down at their hands, their fingers still linked together. "For me it is more complex, because I am both human and Vulcan. My emotional control is imperfect, making me too human in the eyes of other Vulcans. Yet to humans I appear overly contained, without emotion."

"Not to me."

"No, he says, looking at her. "Not to you."

The sky is fully dark now. Here where land and ocean meet the stars are visible all the way to the horizon. Nyota looks up into the infinite space, at worlds so distant their light will never reach her. Some great destiny waits for her there, she knows it like she knows herself.

Great destiny is for tomorrow. Tonight there is only this room, and him, and he is all she wants.

She turns to him, and in his eyes she sees her own thoughts reflected.

"Come inside," she says. "Come and show me."

  


  


  


They take their time undressing, watching each other in the half light.

He undoes the hooks at the back of her dress, and she slips it from her shoulders and drapes it on the chair. She turns to look at him, following his movements with her eyes as he peels off each layer. He is so pale, his body lean and muscular, more defined than she guessed when she could only see him in his stiff Academy uniform. She feels a thrill at the sight of him, standing there in the glow of the lamp, as if waiting for her approval.

"You are beautiful," she says in Vulcan. She's never said this phrase aloud before, and the words come out flawed, the vowels tinged with Romulan.

He smiles. "You are beautiful also." His Vulcan is perfect, classical and precise; though for him, too, the words are unfamiliar.

He comes to her, where she sits on the edge of the bed. For the first time she feels how nervous she is, like something is happening that's too important for mistakes. She doesn't know how they begin, now that they're here.

Fortunately, he does. He threads his fingers through her hair and draws her to him, kissing her with a heated tenderness that blanks her thoughts for a moment. She reaches for him in return, her hands finding his sides, and she feels a tremor go through him at her touch. His response intrigues her; she touches him again and this time he makes a sound, a shuddering inhalation so senselessly erotic it's like something out of one of her dreams.

The next time she moves, he captures her hands and holds them. "Nyota," he breathes, "stop testing me." His lips are still almost touching hers, their foreheads close together.

"I can't help it," she answers, equally breathless, "I want to know what you're like. You're fascinating."

She feels him smile. "I will continue to be fascinating for as long as you require, but can you wait? I find I cannot appreciate you as I want to and be the object of your fascination at the same time."

She nods, not trusting her voice. There's something slightly hypnotic about his mild tone, and the way he gently moves her, lowering her onto the soft white expanse of the bed, still holding her hands carefully away. Their bodies are touching in so many places now, it's difficult for her to stay still. Only her intense desire to know what he'll do, and a corresponding wish not to distract him, keep her from reaching for him again; and then he is touching her and there is only the heat of his hands, the insistent pressure of his mouth against her skin. He explores her body with a scientist's care, mapping each curve and hollow, until every part of her is taut and trembling. She bears it as long as she can, but when he coaxes her legs apart and his tongue finds the wetness there, it's too much. She comes, her body arcing against him, her breath caught in a soundless cry.

He holds her as she recovers her breath and comes back to herself. When she opens her eyes he is studying her. There are tears on her lashes, and he touches them lightly. "It is an emotional, as well as a physical response," he says. "Fascinating."

She laughs, sending a tear spilling. He brushes it away, captures her mouth and kisses her, pulling a sound from her that's pure, unabashed _sex_. She feels her whole body reaching out to him, desire like a physical ache, like something insatiable. It has its own momentum and she feels it accelerating--now his mouth is on her throat, pressing burning kisses against the throb of her pulse; her legs tangle in his, their bodies aligned, their nakedness so natural and fitting and inevitable--

Somehow, she remembers she has a question. Over the pounding of her heart she hears it in her mind, and though she has no idea how to ask it, it's there and she needs to know. She pulls in a breath, attempts focus, and takes a stab at forming words:

"Have you ever done this before?"

He lifts his head and looks at her, a little surprised, but seemingly unperturbed by the sudden change of direction. "What--aspect, in particular?"

"This one." She gestures at them, a little vaguely, but he catches her meaning.

"Physical intimacy. Nyota, you do recall it was not long ago I was a Starfleet Academy cadet, like yourself."

"I do, but--wait, is that your answer?"

His expression is a mixture of amusement and perplexity. "Since you require more directness--yes. I participated in the normal rites of passage, including those of physical intimacy, during my early years at the Academy. It seemed necessary to my understanding of my human side, at a time when I was newly surrounded by human influences."

"Your early years at the Academy. That was--a while ago."

"I discontinued my experiments, as they did not seem to be leading to useful discovery. Something was lacking, perhaps some--emotional component. And as you know, my interests have been engaged elsewhere for some time."

Nyota knows this is the time to ask her real question. She gropes in her mind for the right words. "I thought that--it's different for Vulcans. That intimacy is different. That it's--I don't know, all I know is 'different.' Is it?"

He smiles--at least he's not offended. "Your question is understandable. It is not the custom of Vulcans to speak about such things, making information difficult to obtain. It is true that there are types of intimacy among Vulcans that are different from humans. Our telepathic ability allows us to create a mental link, to share another's thoughts and emotions. In the case of bonded mates and close relatives, the link can be permanent. Most of the time it is temporary."

"Did you ever--do that, with someone?" Nyota knows she's pushing into private things, things that are not fair to ask. But if he feels she's prying, he doesn't seem bothered. His hand on her stomach traces absent-minded circles, gentle passes of his fingers that are both erotic and soothing.

"I share familial links with my parents. Beyond that I have had only a little adolescent experimentation; nothing of real significance. The majority of my experiences have been accidental. It took some time living among humans before I learned to effectively shield my mind against unexpected physical contact."

"Is it something you want to do with me?"

Her question hangs in the air. He is careful not to change expression, but a tiny hesitation in the movement of his hand betrays his emotion.

"It is very intimate, Nyota," he says.

She raises her eyebrows, indicates their nudity--another vague gesture but again understood.

"More intimate than this. More intimate than any physical act or exchange of words can be. It is one's thoughts and emotions made visible to another. I would not--" He pauses, and his hand stills, too. "I would not have you wish it undone."

He looks at her, and she can see in his eyes what he could not keep out of his voice: mingled with desire, affection, honesty, a trace of fear. Fear that he will be too alien for her, that she will find him strange. It's unexpected, and it touches her. "Spock," she says softly, "I want to know you. Whatever you are, whatever you can do, those things are part of you. Anything you want to share with me, I want it."

He smiles, that minute expression that's invisible to most people but everything to her. He touches her face, his fingertips light against her temple. "Close your eyes."

She does, and for a moment there is just swirling darkness. Then she hears his heartbeat--loud and strong, unfamiliar--and her own, fainter but still more audible than she is used to. She feels the air of the room against her skin, all her own sensations but now his as well--his excitement, the coolness of her body against him, the way each brush of their skin together increases his desire for her. She moves experimentally and sees the bright flash, the split second when he is already imagining being inside her.

Then there is a change and she sees herself, walking toward him in her violet dress, coming to meet him at the gate with her eyes shining--and before, a day she almost doesn't recognize. It is last year; she had been away for her sister's wedding, and the day she returned he came to his office and she was there. She sees herself sitting by the window, she looks up at him, and the echo of what he felt reverberates through her. He is showing her the moment he knew he loved her.

More images flash by, and another comes into focus. She enters the lecture hall on the first day of class. As she passes him she greets him in Vulcan, just a few simple words, traditional and ordinary. But she feels, now, how at the sound of her voice something ignited within him. It was primal, inappropriate, quickly suppressed--but he could not forget.

She knows this is only the smallest part. She can sense the surging energy of his mind, the tumult of his thoughts and emotions, but they are separate from her, like something heard through a closed door. He is so careful, so gentle; controlled even now, when she can feel how he wants her with every part of himself; how he is waiting, with infinite patience, until her need to understand is satisfied.

It feels like waking from a dream when she opens her eyes. He removes his hand, breaking the last traces of the link, and studies her face for a reaction. "That's amazing," she says, her voice still a little dreamy. "I could see your thoughts. Could you see mine?"

"I felt your emotions, that is all. I did not want to do too much, in case you disliked it."

"No, I liked it. Thank you for sharing it with me." An impression from his mind resurfaces in hers and she smiles, reaches out to trace the point of his ear with her fingers. "It turns you on when I speak to you in Vulcan. You find it exciting."

He raises an eyebrow. "If you perceived it in my thoughts, it must be true."

"How do you say in Vulcan, 'If I don't have you soon, I feel like I might die?'"

He blinks a few times--whether he is thinking or mastering some emotion, she can't tell. "It is not a phrase in common use," he says, and his voice is mild but she can hear the sound that lies beneath, that pulls at her like the tide of the ocean. "However there is an ancient Vulcan poem that expresses a similar sentiment." He takes her hands and draws them up over her head, a slow, deliberate act that starts her heart racing. His hands are gentle as he touches her body here and there--coaxing her knees alongside his hips, drawing back her hair where it's tumbled over her breasts, touching her cheek so she looks up at him. They're so close now, fractions of inches separating them. Their eyes meet and he sees his slow smile. "The language of the poem is archaic, but if you like, Nyota, I will translate it for you."

She answers him with a smile of her own--it would be a laugh, except her throat is suddenly tight with emotion. "Yes," she says, "I'd like that." He kisses her, a kiss of impossible gentleness; then he is moving forward. He enters her in one breathless motion, the words of the poem caught before he can speak them, and they stare at each other for a moment, as if astonished. Then he moves again, she reaches for him with both hands; and the tide takes them, and they're gone.

  


  


  


Nyota has always believed in destiny, in the working hands of fate. She sees it in the stars, in each step she takes, each success that brings her closer to where she wants to be.

Destiny to her has always meant something big, something on a scale much larger than herself. She thinks now maybe she's been wrong. That the touch of destiny can be as small as two hands clasped together, two bodies sharing one breath; that one small room can contain everything in the universe.

It's beautiful, the way he fits her; the way he moves with her like they were made for each other. They make love in a kind of reverent silence, broken only by sighs and whispers; by breath caught, held, and released. Still they speak to each other, volumes exchanged in every look and touch. She's been learning this language for years, longer than she ever knew. To use it, finally, and be understood feels strange and joyful.

She watches him through her lashes, eager for the sight of him, for what has always been hidden from her: his eyes closed in pleasure, his lips unconsciously parted, the muscles of his arms and shoulders flexing under her hands as he moves above and beneath her. He is careful with her, cautious with his strength. When he comes, his restraint is beautiful to her, more erotic and moving than total abandon could be.

Only once does his careful control slip, and allow something he doesn't intend. One moment she's almost there, on the edge of letting go, and he's whispering her name in a voice heated with the effort of holding himself back for her. It's that note in his voice that pushes her over, pinpoints her focus on him, and she grabs for his hand to anchor herself--

The world opens inside her mind.

It's not an invasion, not forced. It's something they do by accident, like the wind blowing open a door not perfectly closed. Her mind is filled with the sound of Vulcan words--ancient words, words she's never heard--but she knows their meaning now because this is his mind, and Vulcan is the language of his thoughts. She feels the rushing pull, the door opening wide and all the sensations of his body flooding into hers. She opens her eyes, startled, to see him do the same--and to begin to retreat, pulling back and away from her.

_No, don't go,_ she hears herself say, not out loud but in her mind, and he hears her, she knows he hears her. Their eyes meet and she sees his struggle, the war between desire and caution. She feels it, too--how much he wants this, how he burns for her, and yet how carefully he tries to hold it back. Any second she expects him to break the link, to close his mind to her. But he doesn't. All around her, through her, his thoughts keep flowing, the Vulcan words repeating like a poem, or a prayer.

Neither one of them has moved; they are still, hardly breathing, as if waiting for something. Then, from far away, she feels it: the dominoes of his control have begun to fall. She senses it coming and so does he, and their mouths come together in a hard, desperate kiss. "Nyota," he says, "I cannot--"

"I know," she answers, pressing her cool hands to his face, his neck. From out of the rushing current of his thoughts she plucks a fragment and speaks it, her lips soft against the tender curve of his ear: "Beloved, I am yours; soul of my soul, be one with me."

He can withstand no more. His mind goes blinding white, and for an instant there is perfect silence--then it comes roaring back, louder than before. She feels all of him: his mind and his body, his raging emotions and burning desire; she feels what he feels and it's overwhelming. "Nyota--" he gasps, but he's past warning her, he's past everything. His surrender is intense and beautiful, the pleasure that floods her senses unlike anything she's ever felt. It pushes her over, too, and then there is only him--his arms strong around her, his voice in her ear murmuring promises of devotion. His body like an offering, given only to her.

Much later, he will tell her the words to the poem. It's more beautiful than she ever imagined.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyota Uhura has always been drawn to things that resist her understanding. Finding out she's lived her entire life in an alternate reality is a mystery she's not sure she can solve. Sleeplessness and self-examination ensue.

  
There are moments in Nyota's life when she knows something changed. Moments when she can feel time dividing itself into increments of Before and After.

Sometimes, the change is so clear, she knows it as it's happening: The day she told her mother she'd enlisted in Starfleet. The day she left home for the Academy. The first time she saw the Enterprise, and the first time she set foot on its perfect white decks. Each time, she felt the change, and thought _things are different now_.

Other moments pass unnoticed, and only later when she looks back does she see how there was Before, and then there was After: The day in the holovid library when she discovered the Kelvin. Her decision, mysterious to her mother but supported nonetheless, to take up the study of Romulan. The night in Iowa when Jim Kirk found her, and Captain Pike found Jim. The first time she met Gaila, and the last time she saw her.

Her time with Spock has been a series of these moments, a mixture of the obviously significant and the seemingly ordinary; but each is a step, a change. The After of one becomes the Before of the next, and so on, repeat and repeat. The first time she saw him. The first time they spoke. The first day they spent alone, when she was newly his teaching assistant, and the first time they left campus together--a spontaneous decision to get dinner elsewhere, that led them to a bookstore and the first inkling that they could become friends. The first time she came to his quarters by herself, and he made her a cup of tea and they talked about Romulan phonology.

There was the first time she knew, with a certainty that seemed to stop her heart, that she was in love. She doesn't even remember where she was; but she remembers the frustrated despair that came after, knowing he was so out of reach, that Vulcans don't have those feelings. That was before she knew that they do; before the night on the quad when she finally understood, when she kissed him and then they both knew. And not long after, the summer afternoon when she went to meet him at the gate--knowing what it meant to go there, choosing it without hesitation. She stepped gladly across the threshold into After.

Then, it all became Before again.

They had their first fight, over his decision to assign her to the USS Farragut for the support mission to Vulcan--something he did, like a reflex, to avoid any hint that he'd favored her with assignment to the Enterprise. And even though it was only temporary Nyota found herself arguing--because she knew she'd earned a place on the Enterprise, and because she couldn't bear to think of _her ship_ making its first voyage without her, not even a little three-day hop to Vulcan to help with some unexplained seismic activity.

It wasn't much of a fight; Spock knew she was right before she even spoke. And neither one of them had a clue what was at stake; they couldn't, because that was Before. Before they knew what was waiting for them, lurking in space above Vulcan.

The losses from the Battle of Vulcan are unimaginable. Seven Federation starships gone, with most of their crew. Vulcan destroyed, its people decimated. Losses that are felt throughout the universe, and losses so personal that the pain is like a fresh attack. The black hole Nero created at the center of Vulcan consumed the planet--and the black hole he created in Spock's heart nearly did the same to him.

Nyota saw it; she knows how close Spock came to being consumed by the force of his own grief and rage. But he wasn't. He pulled himself back from the brink, and he and Jim did what had to be done--and at the end they were all still alive, and the Narada was destroyed.

They saved the Earth together, and then it was After.

Nyota knows that After never lasts very long. New beginnings and first times are always coming. The After of the Battle of Vulcan will become the Before of something else. It's already happening. The surviving Vulcans are already moving forward on a new colony world, and soon Starfleet will relaunch the Enterprise on her delayed first mission.

Nyota never thought she'd be eager to go into space with Jim Kirk as her captain. It's one of a lot of things the Nyota of Before wouldn't have thought possible.

The Nyota of After is learning not to be surprised when that happens.

  
****

  
The Academy's farewell reception for the Vulcan elders is already underway when Nyota arrives. The ballroom is crowded--Federation personnel and officers from all branches of Starfleet have converged on the Academy in recent days--but the number of actual Vulcans present is very small. From her vantage point on the balcony above, Nyota thinks she could probably count them all: a few dozen elders, each more stoic than the last; the members of the Vulcan Ambassador's staff, who'll be leaving with the elders for the colony world; a few Vulcan Starfleet officers she doesn't know; and Spock.

Nyota has no trouble picking him out of the crowd. Spock is easily the youngest Vulcan there, and his height and black Starfleet dress uniform set him apart from the others. Jim Kirk is with him, also in dress black, looking like he's aged ten years--in spirit if not in body--in the last week. And there's a third member of their little group; Nyota sees gray hair and Vulcan features, and the way Jim and Spock give him their full attention. This must be the other Spock.

Spock has explained to her, to the best of his understanding, the presence of his future self in this reality, and his role in recent events. Under ordinary circumstances Nyota would be surprised; but at this point she's not even sure what ordinary circumstances are. Since she learned of the other Spock's existence, Nyota's been looking forward with mixed feelings to their inevitable meeting. Now that it's imminent, her plan is just to keep it simple: Be polite, try not to be nervous, and if the conversation lags, bring up their mutual interest in Vulcan literature.

What she _won't_ do is ask him about past events in his reality, and especially not about herself--about the other Nyota. She knows, logically, there's nothing to be gained by asking--that even if she knew everything about the other Spock and Nyota's lives, it wouldn't explain anything in her past, or predict anything in her future. She might have fifty years with her Spock, or she might lose him the next time he and Jim have to engage in some borderline suicidal heroics. No one in this universe can tell her which is more likely.

Nyota and Spock both know how close he came to not coming back from the attack on the Narada. They're not ready to talk about it yet, but they process their feelings in other ways, in the privacy of their nights together.

As if hearing her thoughts, Spock looks up, and their eyes meet. He excuses himself to the others and moves through the crowd toward her, coming to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. They get there at the same time, and they stand together for a moment without speaking, until they realize how it looks. He stands up straighter and gives her a quick, formal bow. "Good evening, Lieutenant Uhura."

She bows back, equally formal. "Commander Spock, it's a pleasure to see you."

They can't keep it up for very long. His fingers reach out to brush the soft violet blue fabric of her dress--a quick touch, too fast for anyone else to see. He lowers his head and speaks quietly, so only she can hear him. "You look very beautiful, Nyota. Each time you wear this dress I am reminded of the first time I saw it. I receive great pleasure from this memory."

Nyota flushes a little at the reference, and tries to suppress her smile. She wishes she could take his hand, or even his arm, but discretion won't allow it. In another week the Enterprise will start its first mission, and they'll finally be able to relax their vigilance; but for now they're still operating under Academy rules, surrounded by unfamiliar officers and Federation officials, and watched by the eyes of the Vulcan elders. Nyota contents herself with a brief touch of his sleeve, and a look that tells him she wishes she could do more.

They move through the crowd together, Spock introducing her to various elders and officials. Nyota notices some looks from younger Vulcans--at Spock, more than at her, although a few take her in with what she imagines are knowing expressions.

Whatever they may think, they keep it to themselves. Since Ambassador Sarek supported his son's decision not to join them on the colony world, no one will speak against him to his face. Maybe it will turn out to be as the older Spock said: that he can be in two places at once; that ultimately the Vulcan colony will be content to have the elder Spock, and not begrudge the younger his chosen destiny in Starfleet.

Between introductions, Nyota's eyes keep returning to the place in the room where the other Spock stands, a distinguished figure in the midst of a constantly-changing crowd. Even at this distance, she can see how much he resembles her Spock. They have the same upright posture, the same gentle gravity of expression, the same tilt of the head when thinking. He's older, of course, with an older man's air of being at ease with himself--as if, having lived so long and seen so much of the universe, he can accept what it offers with equanimity. As if he knows from experience what is survivable, and what is not.

Right now the other Spock is talking with Jim Kirk--or rather, Jim is talking to him, telling a story with great animation and hand gestures. As Jim speaks, the other Spock folds his hands together behind his back. There's something about that familiar posture, only slightly stooped with age, that tugs at Nyota's heart--as if some part of her can't quite separate one Spock from the other. He tilts his head as he listens to Jim, and Nyota glances at her Spock to find he is doing the same, listening to Admiral Archer talk about the progress of the repairs to the Enterprise.

When Spock detaches himself from the Admiral, he draws Nyota aside, and his eyes go to the other Spock. "Nyota, he has asked me to inquire if you would be willing to be introduced to him. He is concerned you may find it uncomfortable to encounter someone who knew you in another reality."

"No, it's okay, I'd like to meet him."

"I thought you would, but I promised I would ask."

Junior officers step aside to allow them to pass, and for a moment Nyota loses sight of the other Spock; then suddenly they are before him and her Spock is bowing politely. He keeps his voice low as he makes the introduction.

"Ambassador, may I present Lieutenant Nyota Uhura. Lieutenant, Ambassador Spock."

In that instant, Nyota realizes her mistake. She thought that watching the other Spock from across the room had prepared her; she didn't count on how different it is to see him up close. From a distance the resemblance had already stirred her feelings. Now, standing two feet away, she feels a painful constriction in her heart. They have the same eyes--the same dark, human eyes that show her Spock's every thought, that speak to her more clearly than words. Seeing those eyes in a different face, and seeing in that other face the traces of the features she loves, is disconcerting, and she feels a moment's panic at the thought that the other Spock will notice.

Her Spock doesn't realize her reaction. He's already politely faded into the crowd, leaving Nyota and his older self to talk privately.

The other Spock nods, the expression in his dark eyes reserved but not unfriendly. He holds out his hand to her in greeting. "Lieutenant Uhura, it is a great pleasure to meet you." His voice is a little rougher with age, but the intonations are the same.

"Ambassador Spock, yes, it's so nice to meet you," Nyota replies, distracted by the tumult of her feelings, trying not to show that she's affected. She takes his offered hand, meaning only to exchange the traditional human greeting. But when their hands touch, something else happens, something she doesn't mean to do: She reaches out to him with her mind. She feels the little surge of energy, too late to stop it. And she finds his mind closed, defended.

That he is surprised is evident; Nyota feels the prickle of confusion the instant her mind touches his. He arranges his features quickly but she catches his fleeting expression and knows exactly what it means: He didn't expect this. This Spock doesn't expect Nyota Uhura to know the pathway to his mind. His defense is just the ordinary habit of a touch-telepath who's grown accustomed to physical contact and doesn't wish to intrude on others.

Nyota is shocked at what she's done. All her careful study of diplomacy and strict observation of cultural boundaries have failed to prepare her for what he is: a stranger who feels like a familiar and beloved part of herself. Her heart and mind have tricked her, and who knows what offense she's just caused, or what unnecessary pain? For a moment she feels paralyzed, unable to think of a single thing to say to apologize or explain.

But if the other Spock is offended, he gives no sign. In fact he seems perfectly content to continue their conversation as if nothing unusual has happened. He asks her about her academic work, compliments her on her most recent paper on Romulan verb forms, inquires about living conditions on the Enterprise and how her family feels about her leaving them for a five-year mission. Nyota hardly knows how she answers, but she's grateful for his polite persistence in leading her from one topic to another, allowing her time to regain her composure. By the time others interrupt and she can excuse herself, she's almost calm again.

Nyota is standing alone when Spock appears by her side. He raises one eyebrow inquiringly, but Nyota shakes her head. There's nothing she can say to explain while they're surrounded by people. He leans down, his voice soft but edged with concern. "Nyota, the elders would like to continue working after the reception ends. I may be quite late. Will you wait for me in my quarters?"

She agrees, thankful for the excuse to leave, and for the assurance she'll see him later, even though she knows from experience the Vulcan elders never sleep. It will probably be close to dawn before he finally returns.

  


  


  


Later, as she lies alone in Spock's bed, Nyota can't sleep either. She can't stop thinking about what she did, and what it revealed to her.

_She_ is a difference. Her love for Spock, his love for her--they're part of what's changed in the alternate reality. Now that she knows it, Nyota sees what she could have noticed all along: the chain of events and circumstances that lead directly from the destruction of the Kelvin to this moment--to her in this bed, to him, to the connection between them that has always felt to her like destiny.

What kind of destiny only exists in some realities? Jim Kirk's destiny to be the captain of the Enterprise was durable enough to survive everything this reality could throw at him; it even arrived ahead of schedule this time. Can it be that the love of her life is an accident, a flaw in this timeline caused by something that never should have happened? And if it is, is there a force at work that might try to change it back?

Every part of her rejects the idea. Fate might separate them, they might be taken from one another; they accept those risks as part of the life they've chosen as Starfleet officers. But not the end of their love for each other.

What were Spock and Nyota's lives like, before the Narada came back through the black hole and changed the future? She thought she didn't want to know, but now it's all she can think about. Who cared for the other Spock in his reality the way she cares for his younger self in this one? If not Nyota, who loved him? Who shared the burden of his emotions with him, and gave him peace and comfort in times of difficulty?

The idea that the other Spock didn't need those things never crosses her mind. She knows too well the acuteness of his feelings, how little to trust the calm face that a Vulcan presents to the world. Her heart aches at the idea that the other Spock might have endured the struggles of his life alone.

And now he's really alone--taken from his proper place in time, from everyone he knows, and who does he have here? Nyota knows, with perfect certainty, that he's suffering deeply from the loss of his planet and his people. Age and experience may give him greater resolve in the face of tragedy, but he's still Spock. She knows what he must be feeling.

When Spock returns, he finds her still awake. Nyota pours out her story to him in a torrent of anguished words--what happened, how she felt, everything she's been thinking as she's laid here waiting for him to return. By the time she gets to the part about the other Spock suffering alone in this timeline, she's in tears.

Spock lies beside her as she talks, facing her, and looks at her with eyes full of concern. When she finally gets to the end of her story, he reaches out and touches her hair, gently sweeping the fallen waves back from her shoulder, and letting his hand rest there. "Nyota," he says in his quiet voice, "we know that even a small change to the past leads to countless additional changes. You must not attach too much importance to one difference, no matter how significant it seems to you. Our lives are still always the product of our own choices. Our power to choose for ourselves is not altered by the fact that the time continuum is disrupted."

She sniffles, wiping away the last of her tears. The warmth of his touch is calming to her. "I've just--I've always felt I was destined to fall in love with you. I thought that fate brought us together." Saying it out loud, she feels a little embarrassed. It sounds so illogical.

His lips curl into his familiar not-smile. "I have felt the same. But I know that, in fact, we chose each other. The altered circumstances of this reality may have resulted in our meeting in a different way than Spock and Nyota did in another time, but the difference would be meaningless if we did not choose to act as we have done. And if you do not accept that, consider that it was I, my future self, whose actions set in motion the chain of events that resulted in the alteration to the time continuum. Perhaps that is part of my destiny, that I should have this opportunity to choose again, differently than I did before."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I believe that, if the time continuum was disrupted a thousand times and our lives relived, we would never experience the same thing twice. I do not know why my future self and his Nyota did not have the intimacy that we do, but it does not follow that, because our paths are different, one or the other must be wrong."

"What about Jim Kirk becoming captain? That was something wrong in our reality, and the other Spock fixed it. What if he decides this is something that needs fixing? Maybe there's something else in the future that's supposed to happen, and won't if we're together."

"Nyota. His actions in the matter of Kirk and myself, while I know they struck you as cruel, were necessary. The survival of the Earth was at stake. And Kirk did not act under compulsion. He still had the power to choose whether to follow my future self's advice." He frowns thoughtfully. "Such intervention in the course of events is not something my future self undertook lightly. Even if he knows of some challenge to come, he will not presume to know under what circumstances we will be best equipped to face it. Our own choices must be allowed to determine that."

He draws her to him and she comes readily, snuggling under his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. He feels reassuringly solid, his heartbeat strong against her chest. She sighs.

His voice as he continues is soft. "I understand that recent events have made you fear additional losses. I am not immune to this fear. I cannot forget how easily you might have been among those lost on the USS Farragut."

They are both silent, remembering the awful moment when the Enterprise emerged from warp into that hellish field of tumbling debris, the shattered remains of what had been starships. They still don't know everyone who died; survivors continue to be found in odd places, picked up by passing ships or beamed at the last second to whatever coordinates the transporter had ready. Nyota holds on to a tiny hope for Gaila, but she knows how tiny it is. The Kelvin lasted twelve minutes against the Narada. The Farragut, less than three.

"Nyota," he says finally, "if you wish to know if fate takes a hand in our lives, consider that moment. You refused my assignment to the Farragut. Your belief that you were meant to be on the Enterprise, and your willingness to argue for your belief, saved you. And Nyota, it saved me also. If it had been my doing--if I had been the means by which you went to your death--"

He can't finish the sentence, but he doesn't have to. They lie together in the quiet for what feels like a long time. Spock combs his fingers through her hair, soothing her, lulling her almost to sleep, but she remembers there was something she meant to ask him.

"You were with Jim tonight. Did you give him your answer about the First Officer position?"

She feels him smile. "Not yet. He mentioned it again, but he did not press me for an answer. He seems to enjoy the practice of asking and not receiving a definite reply. I do not mind it myself; it is an interesting study in the human phenomenon of suspense. He has asked no one else, nor do I think he will; but I am nearly convinced he will launch the Enterprise with no First Officer before he will admit to more than a casual interest in my acceptance."

"So, you two are playing a little game." It's odd, but so is the idea of Jim and Spock becoming friends, and she has it on good authority that it's possible.

"If you like. Perhaps I am learning to be more spontaneous."

She shifts her position so she can look at him directly. "You're going to take it, though. You haven't changed your mind."

"I have not. Nyota, I would not be parted from you. Not for--"

"Not for anything less than the whole universe," she murmurs, filling in his pause. The words are like an echo from another life.

"Not even for that. Not for anything. But it is interesting that you should choose those words. It is what my mother said to me when I left Vulcan to join Starfleet."

Nyota smiles. "She was quoting an old friend. It's from _Anouk Ashmai: Her Journey Begins_."

"Yes, so I later found."

She raises an eyebrow. "Really. Do I dare ask how?"

"It is not too surprising. I found myself curious about the books, after you mentioned you had read them. I did not admit it to myself at the time, but I believe I thought that by reading them I might gain a better understanding of what human females find appealing in a potential mate."

That gets a little laugh from her. "And what did you learn?"

He smiles. "Eloquent use of Standard and an ability to look distinguished in a Starfleet uniform seemed to be the primary qualifications."

"You did look very distinguished tonight. But I prefer eloquent use of Vulcan."

"That is my preference, also," he says, in his most perfect, classical Vulcan. He kisses her, his hands threading in her hair, his body strong and comforting against hers. She hears herself make a little sound, feels herself rousing despite her tiredness, but he knows she's been up all night. "My Nyota, beloved," he says, the Vulcan consonants soft against her ear, "you are tired, and you must sleep. I promise I will be very eloquent for you later."

She allows him to pull her into his arms, her eyelids already getting heavy. "Thank you. I will hold you to that promise." Her Vulcan is a little indistinct, her voice fading. She hears him tell the computer to dim the windows, filtering out the predawn light, and she feels his warm arms around her. The room goes dark, and finally, she sleeps.

  


  


  


The next day is a frenzy of activity. With the Enterprise nearly ready for launch, there's little time for anything not related to the mission. Nyota and Spock spend most of their time in the lab, preparing their research materials for upload to the ship's data banks. Finally they have to stop to eat, and it's during that break in their work that Nyota sees the other Spock again.

She spots him the Academy's vast entry hall, standing with a knot of Vulcan elders some distance from where she and Spock have paused to confer with a group of new science officers. Again Nyota finds herself observing him, admiring the ease with which he speaks, the way the other elders seem to defer to him. Once, she senses him watching her--watching _them_ together--and once she's sure she catches a meaning look pass between Spock and his older self.

When the time comes for the Vulcan delegation to leave for the colony world, Nyota seeks out the other Spock once more to say goodbye. It's a brief leave-taking, with promises exchanged on both sides to stay in touch. He offers to send her copies of some ancient Vulcan texts he's cataloging, and asks that she share her admirable linguistic skills by commenting on their likely origin and development. Nyota knows he's far more expert in this area than she is, but it doesn't matter; she recognizes in his request the same respect for her opinion, the same teacher's instinct to encourage a promising student, that have always characterized his younger self.

Once again she is struck by how much he is like her Spock--and why should it surprise her? But it still does, seeing her lover's expressions on this older face, and hearing his familiar patterns of speech in a voice made different by time.

As they make their final, ceremonial gestures of parting, he surprises her in another way. Once more he offers his hand according to the human custom, and she takes it gratefully. "Until we meet again, Lieutenant Uhura," he says. For an instant, she feels his mind brush gently against hers: not seeking or revealing, just present and reassuring. Then it's gone, leaving her blinking back sudden tears.

Nyota watches the shuttles leave, waving until the last of them disappear into the stratosphere. Then she turns back to the bustle of the transport hangar.

The Enterprise is waiting. It's almost time to go.

  
****

  
Nyota Uhura knows more languages than anyone needs--anyone, that is, who isn't living on a starship, whose life doesn't revolve around hurtling through space. She can speak of diplomacy and science, technology and medicine, agriculture and linguistics and strategy and war, and she has eighteen languages and twenty-three dialects to do it in.

For love, she has only two. It's more than enough.

_"Join with me, beloved one, or I will die for wanting you."_ Her lips silently form the words in Vulcan, sending them out into the darkness of Spock's quarters. A delicious shiver runs through her at the memory of the first time he said these words to her--his voice so hushed, so restrained, even as his body burned and trembled against hers. How when their minds met it was as though something burst inside her, something dark and beautiful as the heart of an exploding star.

Spock's hand moves in hers and she turns to find him watching her. "Your Vulcan is impeccable as always, Nyota," he says softly, in perfect Kiswahili. He laces their fingers together and through the tiny link she senses he is sharing her memory.

"I have been practicing," she says, again in Vulcan. "I find a great deal of time for thinking on this starship."

He frowns a little at that. She sees his eyes flicker to the timescreen: 0344 hours. "Nyota, I believe you have been awake for some time. You will not maintain your health if you do not receive sufficient rest."

She reaches out to trace the shape of his ear with her fingertips, enjoying the way her touch distracts him, momentarily diverts him from his point. "I'm sorry," she says, stroking her thumb gently over his cheekbone, his brow. "I don't mean to worry you. There's just a lot going on, and my thoughts won't be quiet."

He is silent for a moment, closing his eyes as her fingers find the delicate bow of his upper lip and pause there, as if waiting to interpret a message. Then he opens his eyes, and when he speaks his voice is low and even. "Perhaps I might be of assistance," he says, "in providing you with something else to think about."

"God, yes, plea--"

Her words are lost as his mouth finds hers, strong and insistent and tender all at once, like him--like both of them. She kisses him back, delighting in the sound he makes when she wraps her leg around his and pulls him toward her. Her fingers tug at fasteners, push layers of fabric away; then there is just him, his skin naked and so hot against hers. She feels him draw a steadying breath--an effort at self-control that never fails to move her, as pure as any declaration of love. Then the break, the shuddering exhalation as he pushes into her so urgent and needy and _there_. His hands find hers--she feels the rush of something opening between them--and for a moment it's as though all sound has disappeared. There is only this: no worlds, no ship, no language, only this instant spinning outward like thread from a skein of time. _I'm yours,_ she says to him inside her mind. _I'm yours like the stars, like your destiny._

She feels rather than sees him smile. _And I will die for wanting you,_ he answers. She opens her eyes then, touches his cheek so he lifts his head and looks at her. For a long moment she studies his face, reading everything that is written there--how much longing and sorrow, intelligence and love, desire and awe. He holds himself so still, waiting for her; and he makes it look easy but she can feel his blood raging around her, inside her. And it's louder than words, louder than the universe.

"Prove it," she whispers in perfect Vulcan. And time starts again, and he does.


End file.
